


Anamnesis

by Multifaceted_Melancholic



Category: MCU-meshed-with Norse-mythology, Pre-Thor AU - Fandom, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Discussion of parental relationships, Dysfunctional Family, Jötunn Loki, Loki's Kids, Loki-centric, Lots of Norse-y stuff, Memory manipulation and other mind games, Metaphoric turning of tables, Oblivious Asgard, Ragnarὂk and other end-of-the-world drama, Unfairness Unparalleled, a whole new ball game really, the Destroyer gets its 15 seconds of fame... only not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:30:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifaceted_Melancholic/pseuds/Multifaceted_Melancholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every cycle of Yggdrasil, Odin is Lokisbane and child-thief. This time, he has merely begun early. And oh, how Loki shall make him suffer for it.</p><p>Five-shot, more mythology than MCU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A fool, and a forgotten truth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel or its characters. Creative liberties with myths.
> 
> Anamnesis (n): It is the idea in Platonism that humans possess knowledge from past incarnations and that learning consists of rediscovering that knowledge within us. (Source: Wikipedia)
> 
> Basic summary: The pain triggered Loki’s memory of past lives. Cognitive recalibration, you could say ;)
> 
> In this fic, I’ve decided to go for the intersex Jὂtun theory. I still use regular masculine pronouns for Loki, however.

...

For Loki, every nightmare starts as a day of triumph.

One moment, he is standing tall and proud before his father, confident that this time, he has truly done it, and there is nothing Thor can do to outshine his gleaming trophy.

“I humbly present to you Mjὂlnir, forged from a dying star by the acclaimed craftsmith Brokkr and Sindri, as token of my fealty and proof of my exploits.”

The next moment, he is literally falling, the hammer in his outstretched hands weighing more than the sky, more than father’s expectations, pulling him in its trajectory from his hands to father’s.

As soon as he realises this, he lets go; only too happy to give the gift to the intended. He cannot help feeling smug that father was so eager to see what elusive present Loki had brought for him.

( _A small voice at the back of his head reminds him how unusual it is for the All-Father to cut through the niceties; Odin was always one for strict protocol. But as he was wont to do, Loki dabbles sparingly with caution and ignores all advice that could possibly help him._

 _An even greater part of him is rueful. He had looked forward to delivering his prize in front of father’s throne, in full audience so all may know of his deeds_.)

But no matter. The covetous gleam in father’s eye is glory enough.

“’Tis an impressive weapon indeed, masters Brokkr and Sindri. You have my regard.”

Loki maintains an impassive face, uneasy that his father chose first to acknowledge the dwarves, rather than his waiting son. The dwarves had no love for Asgard, and would have sold the hammer to the highest bidder, had Loki not tricked them out of it.

Yet, Loki is used to being an afterthought when father is concerned.

( _Foolishly, he hoped things would be different this time. Foolishly, he hopes the same every time._ )

The dwarves take the acknowledgement as their cue to move forward, shuffling in their stunted gait towards the golden throne, opening leering at Asgard’s opulence with the eyes of practiced smith-workers. Clearing his throat, Brokkr murmurs, “We are honoured that your highness has graced our humble creation with your blessing.”

At this, he pauses, and carefully demurs, “However, there remains the matter of payment.”

“And what price has my silvertongue brother tricked you out of, my good dwarf?” Thor laughs, as if Loki’s hard work and the dwarves’ misery are both simply games design to amuse his golden gloriness.

Brokkr is not pleased by the Crown Prince’s lack of tact; but the opening is exactly what he needs.

“His head” the dwarf pronounces bluntly, and Loki curses Thor within the aforementioned body part. Loki doubts that Odin had any intention to pay the dwarf, unparalleled creation or not. But Thor just _had_ to ask, without a thought for the consequences.

Time for his schemes to save his skin. As usual, though this time more literally than others.

Stepping in front of the dwarf, Loki grins. “Take my head, if you will; but I promised you not my neck.”

Sindri gasps, and Brokkr turns puce. “And how are we to take your head without touching your neck!”

“Ah, master dwarf, you should have thought of that _before_ you bargained with the trickster prince of Asgard.”

Loki invokes his title judiciously, to remind the dwarf exactly who he is demanding recompense from, and what his terms are.

( _He wishes he hadn’t turned to face the dwarf. He cannot see Odin’s expression; does not know what his father is thinking- but surely there is no reason to fear… he won this fair and square._ )

Loki is not nervous. He refuses to be.

Thor is still smiling. His cavalier attitude breeds Loki’s hate like gold engenders greed.

The hall is silent as Odin thinks. When his judgement comes, it is crisp, precise and brutally quick.

“The hammer Mjὂlnir is a force of power to reckon with; to be wielded only by one who has the will to control it. Thor, my son, god of thunder; you alone are worthy, and from this day it shall be yours to possess.”

_No. No no no no no no-_

_Not a gift for Thor. Please no father; I was the one who got it; it was for you-_

“Masters Brokkr and Sindri. The hammer is a fine weapon, and it shall serve Asgard well in my son’s hands. Therefore, though it has been naught but a trick, you shall have your prize. Loki’s head is yours to do as you wish…. So long as you do not sever it from his body.”

A gasp. _Frigga?_ Loki wonders in a detached manner. For all his brilliance, he is still processing all that has occurred.

( _He stole a priceless artefact for his father. Odin gave it to Thor. He is to be punished._

_“Your father has a reason for everything he does, Loki.”_

_Perhaps he is simply not wise enough to see it._

_Perhaps he is looking too deep; perhaps Odin has weighed the costs and decided that the price is acceptable in face of the gains. (Prize, he called it, as if Loki’s head was a trophy to be won.)_

_He is not to be blamed (the fault, as always, lies with Loki). Loki certainly thought the same ~~when he made the bargain~~ before he found out that the weapon would go to Thor._

_Perhaps this is punishment. Can it be such if he does not know his crime?_ )

The dwarves, previously in whispered discussion, step up beside the king’s throne to appraise him of their decision. Odin apparently finds it acceptable, for he nods and beckons to his ‘errant’ son.

“Kneel, Loki.”

Loki hates bowing, hates leaving his neck exposed for the dwarves to chop off the bargained head regardless of the consequences. After all, he couldn’t very well protest his case if he were dead, could he?

Yet, he cannot refuse a direct order form the All-Father.

So Loki lowers himself and keeps his eyes to the ground in respect and docility. Thor, meanwhile, is summoned to father’s throne. He listens to his instructions carefully, then steps down to stand beside Loki’s bent form.

The Thunderer considers his new prize calculatingly. Gently, Thor pushes Loki to lie on his back, then places Mjὂlnir neatly in the centre of his chest.

Loki gasps; the weight is like nothing he has ever felt before; he marvels at how he managed to carry this weapon from one realm to another. _Of course_ , he thinks bitterly, _that was before Odin declared it only worthy of Thor_.

His legs are completely paralyzed, and Thor cannot ( _does not try to_ ) keep the pleased expression off his face. “A wonderful gift indeed, father; to immobilise the slippery Loki.”

No matter that it is _Loki_ who stole the accursed hammer and presented it to Odin, _as a gift for his father, he might add_. Didn’t Odin know that re-appropriating a gift suchly was tantamount to insult?

( _It is not, by any means, the rudest thing ever said, or done, to Loki. Foolishly, though, he still expects his father to actually care._ )

All inner sarcasm vanishes from Loki’s head as his brother ( _stupid, blessed, privileged, brother_ ) kneels beside him, the latter’s brawny frame easily holding down the skinnier Loki’s arms.

From the corner of his eye, Loki can see Brokkr. The Dwarf is fairly dancing in glee; the humbling being as important a recompense as the punishment itself. Loki sees the needle in his hand and pales.

The needle piercing through delicate skin of his upper lip awake such intense pain, Loki near loses consciousness at the first stich. The needle is cold on his face but Thor’s hands are warm against his shoulders; the floor smooth beneath but the dwarf’s hands rough.

Suddenly, frighteningly, he feels that everything is so, so _wrong_.

_The hands holding him down are suddenly against his cheeks, cradling him while a gentle voice whispered soothing melodies in his ears._

_He can feel Thor’s hands on his face; he opens his eyes, his brother is stitching his lips while the dwarf cackles outside his line of sight, only Thor is not his brother but his nephew and he can’t seem to remember why that is…_

_He can see three of everyone, three Friggas standing white-faced behind the throne, three Odins with various faces of disdain, three dwarves gleefully crowing over him, too many dwarves, too many threads-_

_He kicks, thrashes violently; mindless of Thor’s surprise or Brokkr’s hiss. The needle jerks in the dwarf’s hand, it pokes him in the eye, blinding him…_

_Like venom from the fangs of a humongous snake…_

_Thor’s hands are crushing into his side, holding him still so Brokkr may continue. Yet all Loki feels the weight of chains around his middle, chains forged from entrails of one son killed by another…_

_These are nightmares. They **cannot** be._

_But they are. And they have been. And they will be… if he does not act._

Suddenly, Loki’s mind is clear like it has never been. He **_remembers_** ; and more importantly, he **_knows_**.

He is not the son of Odin. He never was.

( _Funny how he always knew that within his heart but refused to face the truth._ )

He is a piece in a grand game played by the Norns – the cycle of existence. Each time, Yggdrasil is born from nothing and subsides into the nothing from whence it came. Each time is a different life, a different Loki, but each time is a Loki that has suffered by Odin’s hand, a Loki that brings it all to an end... only for everything to start again.

 **_Ragnar_ ** **_ὂ_ ** **_k._ **

His memories nearly overwhelm him; and for one twisted moment, Loki is glad for the thread. Else, his keening would alert Odin- nay, the whole of Asgard- of his pain, multiplied throughout each torturous existence.

And what would Odin do if he found out that Loki regained his memories?

_Pain, pain… more and more in every cycle, building up in the end only for everything to crumble and start again…_

But this time is different, it has to be. Loki cannot survive the cycle; each time he remembers, the horrors he endures piles up over the cycles and the combined tortures sap his will, fuelling his longing for destruction, if only to return to the cursed ignorance of rebirth. If his plans fail this time and the Tree crumbles and his heart is put together again, only to shatter in the next cycle… there are limits to how much destruction the destroyer of worlds can take.

Loki is not blood bound to Odin. The only oaths he has sworn are vague promises to Asgard itself, in various ceremonies and formal occasions, not to its ruler. The freedom within his own mind, the absence of a coiling, alien intelligence directing his thoughts, the supervision of his ‘brother’ ( _father?_ ) … it is a taste of _true_ free will, a sweet promise of freedom to come.

_(Loki is Jὂtun, but he will not think of that. Not now. Perhaps later when he has time to sift through the memories and find out how much of a monster he truly is.)_

Odin, by taking him as a babe, irrevocably changed the course of fate. Ragnarὂk is inevitable either way, but the All-Father’s mischief has given Loki room to manoeuvre. Loki shall not give the Deceiver a chance to make the same mistake again.

This time, he knew where all he had gone wrong, so he could make things right.

Every stitch is a reminder of Odin’s duplicity and a promise to himself. It is all he truly has.

**…**

Even with the thread gone, his reflection disgusts him. His true face is a mockery of the mask he has worn since he was born, lined with his heritage as prince and the burdens that brings.

But it is real, is one of the few things that has never changed throughout the cycles, while _Brother_ became _Father_ and _friend_ became _foe_. So Loki faces his reflection, stiff in front of the glass, and learns to make himself accustomed ( _but not truly comfortable, not yet_ ) with it… for he knows that the greatest drawback to his plans is often his own self-destructiveness. His (Aesir-ingrained) fear of his true nature only adds to his anger, his resolve, his strength.

In the night he dreams of other blue faces, older and younger, and his heart breaks a little.

**…**

It takes Loki far too long to make up his mind, whether or not to meet the King of Jὂtunheim. Odin told his children grisly tales of the brutality of the ruler; though the All-Father’s word no longer holds any meaning for Loki.

Still, he is right to worry, for the cycles change people, and he knows naught who he will face. Will arrogant, vain Laufey smite him where he stands; or will the nurturing Nàl welcome her lost foundling into her embrace?

The trip to Jὂtunheim is well worth it. This Laufey has all of his trademark cunning, tempered by Nal’s unwavering belief in the steadfastness of familial ties. Loki has been exceptionally lucky, considering the events of Ragnarὂks past. He thanks the Norns for this once-in-a-million-lifetimes’ chance, for they have clearly blessed him.

The Norns’ price turns out to be more than he can pay.

_For when things go wrong, who is to blame but Loki?_

The sun, the moon and the goddess Freyja – these are the demands of the craft-smith who would build a wall around the whole of Gladsheim with naught but his horse for assistance. The price is much too steep, but the terms are impossible, so Odin agrees with no intention to pay.

A serious miscalculation, as it turns out.

The builder’s horse, Svaðilfari, is special; clearly a beast of magical power, completing several years of labour in months. Three days to the deadline, and the Aesir are frantic. Odin’s promise of death results in Loki’s unwilling transformation into a mare, with intention to distract the steed Svaðilfari and so deprive the builder of his exorbitant payment.

A mad race ending in capture, a forced coupling, a painful pregnancy, and a lost eight-legged child later, Loki is not so grateful for the Norns’ ‘blessing’. _When the end comes_ , he thinks viciously, _he will drag the Norns down with the rest of tangible existence, they who sought to take everything from him again and again and again_.

**_If only his hands don’t feel so empty and lost…_ **

Loki loves his little foal, strange and unexpected though he may be. To cede Sleipnir to Odin’s demands is to tear his heart out and watch it chained. Yet, for all the heartbreak, it is an old, bitterly familiar wound.

Every circle, Odin finds, twists and binds his children, in the name of Asgard, and in doing so ensures that Loki’s wrath and hence Ragnarὂk. His strategy is naively simple. He subjugates the tamable younglings – Sleipnir, Vàli, Nàrfi – while banishing their powerful siblings to remote, inhospitable lands far from Loki’s reach.

This cycle Odin has simply started early, by kidnapping Loki himself.

His plan of surreptitiously stealing the Casket back for his people is no longer an option. He will not leave Asgard without Sleipnir, and with his little colt bound by the Deceiver’s magic, the only way is to face Odin head-on.

Very well. If Loki must incite war to free his child, then war it shall be.

For war, however, he needs his other children. And for that, he needs a mate.

Glὓt, his first wife, gentle and shy, fit only for the carefree Loki of Ragnarὂks past… her face has long faded in his memories. And his last, his Aesir wife ( _or was she Vanir? So much he had forgotten, or maybe these things change every cycle…_ ), it is not surprising he barely remembers her. Those times where made indistinct by venom-induced hallucinations and the numbness of losing his innocent Vàli and Nàrfi. Those were days of endless agony, of trial and regret, with only pain and suffering as a constant companion.

Still, he wishes he could recall her features. Precious few were completely loyal to him.

Angrboða is a clearer picture in his head; their time together a complex meld of emotions. From what he remembers, Angrboða was hardy, resilient; and she would pass that trait on to their offspring. She would bear him strong children capable of surviving the horrors he knew were coming. After all, did his children not stand tall as victors at the end, rejoicing over the dead bodies of his so-called brother and father? ( _or brother and nephew, or some other sentimental relation to mask their real status as jailors and child-stealers…_ )

But the most resilient of all is Loki himself. Loki has suffered through centuries – entire cycles – of poorly concealed Aesir hostility. Loki has endured scorn and contempt and cursed thread and stitched lips.

No, he shall bear his children himself. He shall let them gestate in his body, feel his magic and his pain and his memories, so they know what fuels their cause. And he shall never, never, let them be taken from him. 

…

The first time Loki kisses Angrboða, he can barely hold his bile. Hastily concocting excuses, Loki flees, lest memories of gorging on a living, beating heart cause him to empty his stomach upon the bashful Iron Woods diplomat.

The very thought of meeting Angrboða again makes Loki nauseous _. Is this guilt for crimes not yet committed_ , he wonders, _or a chance for revenge before the betrayal even occurs?_

It takes time to overcome the backlash of old cycles’ memories, but Loki perseveres by thinking of their precious children. Loki’s affection for Angrboða is mostly genuine, though at times he remembers the cloying taste of betrayal, of a sensuous body whispering sweet nothings into his ears while he spilt Asgard’s secrets into hers.

Angrboda doesn’t question Loki’s desire to be a dam despite the pressures of his eventual kingship, nor his preference for a more masculine form. It is a complete role-reversal; with Loki as the teacher and Angrboda the willing student.

Angrboda knows something; that much Loki is certain. Yet if he notices Loki’s slip-ups and instinctive flinches, he makes no mention.

…

His double-life is immensely productive, but sometimes the façade grows too tiresome to maintain.

Loki has always resented the mockery and ill-will of Aesir – his people, or so he foolishly believed ( _for decades, centuries…_ such liars all) – towards him. While young and naïve and hopeful, he had sought to address this, through valour, charm or show of power. As a prince of the realm, he had demanded his due respect. As Asgard's greatest sorcerer, he had demanded recognition. And from his family, he had expected love, no matter how absent their affections were.

Now, the casual disregard chafes Loki to the heights of irritation. He is the end of their world as they know it, and he wants them to bow before him in fear.

( _Loki had suffered untold horrors by Aesir hands, in previous cycles; enough to drive him mad. They are treating him quite well, comparatively. Odin hiding his origins had some positive aspects._ )

Odin and Thor are the worst. The All-Father, while blood-brother and ally, wisely held Loki in caution, recognizing the spirit of chaos within him, and the dangers he posed to the World Tree itself. Was that not why Odin sought Loki on his side and bound them through ancient magic?

The Odin of now is a fool, thinking he has tamed the Jὂtun through familial ties. Loki snorts. _Even the chains of Gleipnir could not cage the bringer of Ragnarok; what could this warped facsimile of a family do?_

It is ironic, truly; the Thor of cycles past would totter behind Loki, eager for flashes of mischief or magic. Now the bulky meathead expects Loki to follow obediently in the oaf’s shadow.

Sometimes Loki longs to lash out, to unleash what he and no one else can unleash, but the plan is everything. It is the slimmest chance of freedom from the agonizing cycle, and Loki can put aside his anger... for now. He will use the scorn and the slights to feed the flame of vengeance inside him, till all of Asgard, no, till the World Tree itself burns.

 **_For Ragnar_ ** **_ὂ_ ** **_k is both a rain of ash and the end of the world..._ **

…

His children grow tall and strong, proof of the giant blood that flows strong through both parents’ veins. To them, Loki makes no secret of their captive eldest and what sacrifices must be made to have him back again.

Jörmungandr is horrified, Hela solemn, and Fenrir determined. _Yes, Dam,_ they promise, urging Loki not to worry; insisting they will get their brother back from the one-eyed thief, even if they have to destroy the whole of Asgard.

Loki is pleased; he has thought them well. They know the value of family.

( _As Odin never did, a voice in his head whispers. Loki quells the thought. He had no care for his Aesir ‘family’._ )

The children say a lot more unsavoury things about Odin. It appears that Laufey has also done a great deal of ‘teaching’.

Loki is undeniably entertained; he is looking forward to their invasion.

…

The destroyer is a formidable foot-soldier (though hardly intelligent enough to be deemed an opponent), well capable of hindering his plans, not to mention razing him and his fellow Jὂtnar to a puddle; and hence it is the first issue Loki addresses.

Funny how a simple spell to deactivate the door-opening mechanism can render Asgard’s most prized defender obsolete, merely a hunk of metal behind bars that would not open.

Without the vault's metal guardian, the theft of the Casket is childishly simple.

He has no hard feelings in betraying the Aesir. He was destined to bring about their demise anyway. And if their actions happened to spur him along… well, what would that matter in the grand scheme of things?

With the Casket in their possession, victory is all but assured. The real thing left to gain, truly, is vengeance.

His children shall wage war against all of Asgard, their swords sharp with poisoned memories of cycles before. Jörmungandr’s venom and Fenrir’s fang and Hela's army shall lay waste to all in their path, swiftly annihilating the Aesir to free their long-lost eldest brother.

**_Ragnarök is come, oh child of Yggdrasil._ **

**_It would come on his terms now._ **

**...**


	2. Fate's design, and a Father's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation between two Gods... and the fate of the universe rests in its balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry; I put up this chapter on FF.net in December, but forgot to update it here! Really silly of me. On the positive side, you get both Chapters 2 and 3 together!
> 
> Hope the New Year brings great fortune to you!

Tremors shake beneath the ground; the bodies of the fallen lie motionless above.

Small skirmishes roar, flicker and die; hastily-formed bands of soldiers, peasants and a handful of mages lunging and parrying widely with no thought of the corpses underfoot.

Loki huffs out a disbelieved laugh. Never did he believe he would see proud Aesir warriors engaged in a desperate battle not for glory but for survival. _After all_ , he thinks gleefully, _there is no Valhalla for them to go to_.

His opponent thrusts a golden spear towards Loki’s face; Loki ducks and returns the blow. A close shave, he acknowledges; a price for his distraction.

They are at the epicentre of the battle, their match the decider of the war’s (and both realms’) fate. After all, as in chess, the game is over when the king falls.

And Odin is losing.

The All-Father may bluster as if he has the upper hand, but Loki’s keen eyes can see the tiredness in his parries and the sheen of sweat upon the withered brow. And-

“Oh dear, is that blood?” *****

The All-Father must be exhausted indeed, if Loki’s inattentive deflection was enough to pierce flesh.

“It is not mine alone.”

This prompts an incredulous, if slightly mocking, glance. “I rather doubt that claim.” Loki is secretly amused by the other’s silly pride ( _That pride that cost him so much pain…_ ).

Odin huffs. “ _You_ are the Lie-Smith, not I.”

 ** _Oh, what irony_**. The casual use of the moniker brings out Loki’s ire in full force. “Ah yes… Lie-Smith, Silver-Tongue, God of Mischief…. such creative insults designed to humiliate me.”

“Well, Odin All-Father, I believe I must return that title back to you.”

Circling his prey, the Jὂtunn cut through his opponent’s outraged disbelief. “To turn an entire life, a soul, with all its dreams and ambitions, into a depraved lie... truly, my _cheap tricks_ cannot compare.”

Odin sighs deeply, as if in pain. “I wanted only to protect you from the truth.”

Odin is not even apologetic. He states his weak justification as if it is fact, and with the same disappointed tone he always uses with his second son, as if Loki is too foolish to understand.

( _Loki has always been the smartest among the Aesir. He has done numerous dirty deeds for the good of Asgard, all so finely planned that they could not be blamed on him. Yet Odin has never once acknowledged his skill and intelligence…._

_Did Odin see his accomplishments, see a Frost Giant, and dismiss his efforts?_

_Did Odin take pleasure from his misery, from his pain, the suffering of the enemy’s son?_ )

“Protect me? Did you protect me from the taunts of my peers and the disdain of the court? Did you protect me when Thor’s berserker attitude endangered me and the others with him?” Quietly, venomously, he asks, “The Wall, was that your idea of _protection_ too?”

“I did my best-“

“Your best? _Your best?_ Your best was reserved for your golden son; your only son, the precious child who believed he had the right to do anything and everything he liked, simply because you always gave him _your best_!”

Loki is shouting now, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I didn’t want your best! I just wanted you **_care_**!”

Slowly, deliberately, he murmurs, each word more sharp, honed by centuries of hurt, “If you cared, you would have at least _tried_.”

A great weariness shadows the All-Father’s face. “I did not want you to feel any different, to feel that you were not one of us.”

“BUT I AM NOT!”

Loki’s forces calm back into his voice, regretting the rashness of his outburst. _Odin and his opinions no longer matter,_ he tells himself… but the habit of a desperate child is difficult to break.

“I am not one of you, and I never have been. This was obvious even to those who knew naught of my heritage, those who saw only my Seiðr and my schemes and ostracized me for them!”

 His calm is slipping, so Loki channels his agitation into blunt sword attacks, engaging Odin in battle so the old man would not see the emotion in his eyes. “I would rather be locked up in a vault just like the treasure of my people, than to struggle through the invisible confines of Aesir bigotry, through stifling politics and blatant mockery; _all for what, your grudging acknowledgement_?”

Odin’s temper is just as vicious as he always remembered it; it rages angry and violent no matter what façade the Deceiver puts during the cycle. “You took every opportunity to flaunt the rules, to challenge my authority… you so delighted in your cleverness, that you cared naught for the consequences of your actions!”

 _And what consequences did Thor care about?_ he is tempted to ask, but he does not. This is not about Thor; Loki is done comparing himself to anyone, least of all the irresponsible Aesir prince. What did Thor know of rebirth and remembrance, of strategy to save a dying world, of pain and suffering and lost children and the desperation of the losing side?

No, Thor does not matter. Odin’s favour for Thor had misdirected his anger; Loki was so busy trying to foil the _competition_ , that he was oblivous to the scheme of the _game-maker_ …

Thor is a fool he could wrap around his finger and lead on a merry chase whenever he wished. _Odin_ is the true enemy here; he always has been.

“I did what I did best! What I, and only I, could do. And you used that, used me to your advantage.”

Odin cannot deny that. No one, not Frigga with her loom, not even his true parents, could have predicted Sleipnir.

“It was for the good of Asgard. It was for all of us.”

“Funny, how it was never good for me. But then again, we have established that I am _not_ one of you.”

“Asgard is your home, and I your father! I raised you!”

“And the life I lead, the life you gave me… raised as a weapon and a tool, what life is that?”

Loki will not tremble. He will not. “I would have preferred the truth, no matter how horrendous, to this deception!” Bitterly, he laughs, “Blind to such a fundamental lie, a lie about myself, my very nature… not much of a Lie-Smith, am I?”

“A weapon? No Loki, you were-“

Loki’s voice is dagger sharp and laden with the venom that still haunts his nightmares. “If you _dare_ say that I was loved, I will tear your tongue out with my bare hands.”

Odin’s wrath replaces his empty platitudes. He is too angry to care about being right anymore. His justifications pointless, he settles on spite.

“I blessed you with the title of Prince or Asgard, and you dishonoured it with lies.”

“I was already Prince, Crown Prince, in fact; who would one day be King. A fact you had plans for, did you not? You raised me as your puppet king, but cut off my strings when I would not dance to your tune.”

“Why do you twist my words so? If you had but _listened_ -“

“You could have tried talking instead of punishing. Might have had better results.” Ah, his wit returns. Good. Loki is tired of this conversation.

“I have tried everything I can, cycle after cycle after cycle. And yet, here we are.” Odin sighs. “You are unalterable, Loki. Immutable and irreverent, always stirring chaos and discord.”

**_ENOUGH. No more._ **

Loki cannot take it.

“Oh, no, no, no… you have rejected me often enough. Now it is my turn to denounce you… father, brother, child-slayer, _Deceiver, Monster_.”

Loki senses movement behind him, and a flare of concern emanating from the psychic link he shares with his loved ones.

He sends back a quick acknowledgement. Maybe it is better this way. Karmic indeed… the irony. Stepping aside to show Odin the one behinds, he says,

“To the accomplishments of this second son you turned your blind eye... now this second son's second son shall rip your useless eye and spill your guts; desecrate you as we have destroyed the hallowed halls of your precious Asgard.”

Odin appraises at Fenrir with a critical lilt of his head, readying his stance and aiming his spear carefully. Loki freezes from an assault of unpleasant memories, of _that same expression_ that precedes Odin’s every proclamation of unworthiness. Loki believed that there was no more Odin could do to anger him, but the open disdain for his son fuels his rage like never before. _Do you see him, you blind fool, and see a weak babe just as you saw when you stole me?_

Loki is not weak, and neither is Fenrir. It is time to prove that to the one-eyed Deceiver.

Fenrir transforms into a hulking wolf, black as night and bloodthirsty as Hela’s finest. His jaws grow, as long as swords and perhaps even sharper; hair elongating into fur and nails into claws. On all fours, Fenrir towers over Odin, who is at last brought down small enough to _know his place_.

One swat of the humongous wolf’s paw, and the All-Father lies sprawled on the battlefield, blood oozing from multiple injuries. Loki looms with deadly intent, Odin powerless at his feet.

“I, to whom you denied your gilded throne, am ruler of everything now.”

Pausing to let Odin roll and cough out blood, Loki waits till his erstwhile father faces him again to say, his voice deliberately light, “You have no cause to worry, _father_. I will mete out only fairness to all your precious Aesir… _the exact same fairness you treated me with_.”

Turning from the fallen king, he adds, “That is, if there are any who survive this day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Think: “Oh dear, is she dead?” from Thor 2. That utterly debonair air is uniquely Loki and impossible to express by words alone.
> 
> **I’ve replayed the confrontation scene in the Treasure Vault multiple times, and Odin’s exact words are, “I wanted only to protect you from the truth.” The wording was so strange I couldn’t believe it at first. Not ‘to protect you from Jὂtunn-haters’ or ‘so you don’t feel different and isolated’… no, Odin says, ‘to protect you from the truth’. Meaning, to keep Loki in the dark so that he doesn’t realize he’s a political pawn. I dunno about you, but this screams douchebag to me.  
> I made Fenrir the second son. Just for the sake of karma.
> 
> I found so many errors in the previous chapter. If you find any more, in this or the previous chapter, please let me know.
> 
> I am very, very sorry for the delayed update (and for forgetting to cross-post). Hope you liked it!


	3. A Mother's love, and the Child that embraced it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was the only one who did not condemn him, no matter what he did. She claimed to love him, and perhaps her love was true. 
> 
> But some wounds are too deep; and she cannot simply kiss them better. What does that mean for them, Loki wonders.

Loki in his own way, is a being as eternal as the Norns.

The only one fated to remember every incarnation, millennia of birth and death and every memory in between, countless cycles that overlap yet diverge.

“You stole the Casket from the Treasure Vault?”

Yet Frigga’s simple words make him feel like a child caught stealing pastries from the kitchens, small and sheltered and warm.

Loki responds with flippancy, acting unconcerned by the censure in her tone. “Consider it recovery of the _wergild_ that Asgard refused to pay for its crimes against my people.”

“Your people? Loki, my child, _we_ are your people. We are your family, and we raised you.”

“Raised me to fear what I am” he counters. “My family, except when I bring shame upon my title and rank. My people, except when dwarves from foreign realms demand my head as payment.”

He shakes his head. “No, I am Odinson no longer, and you lost the right to call yourself my mother a long time ago.”

His former mother stares, so earnestly confused, so unable to understand why her foster child would ever turn his back on the world that gave him naught but pain and suffering; so assured and quick to assure that, _of course, Loki is loved_.

Frigga entreats, sweet and cajoling as she has always been, even as she laid the foundations for Loki’s unattainable dreams of affection and paternal pride. “Loki, beloved… I know there are many secrets we have kept from you, and you have every right to be angry, to hate us, even. But please, let others not suffer for our mistakes.”

It infuriates Loki, how she constantly writes down everything that concerns her second son.

(He remembers, shortly after he was declared a full-fledged warrior, Thor had – in jest, or so the oaf claimed – implied that Loki had passed the exam through trickery. They had sparred, to prove that Loki was truly capable of his new status. He lost the match, of course; but thanks to Thor he also lost the title of ‘warrior’ among his peers.

Loki had bespelled Thor with constipation for that, though it only enhanced his reputation as a sore loser. Frigga had made her boys apologize to each other; as if one ‘ _sorry’_ from Thor’s lips could compensate for the jeers from all of Asgard for the decades that followed.)

He is waging a war against a realm.

She is treating it like the tantrum of an upset child.

Loki’s ire is palpable in the chill that thickens the air around them, that makes Frigga’s teeth chatter and makes her breath cloud. “Anger? Hate? You think this is revenge?”

Loki’s voice is old with cycles of understanding. “You weaved you thread and foretold Ragnarok in shaky whispers, yet you still do not see what Ragnarok truly is.”

Pausing for effect, Loki explains, soft and gentle and all the more deadly for it, “ ** _Ragnarok is a mother's love._** ”

Frigga trembles, with grief or shock or revulsion, or perhaps a mix of all three. “Love? My child, this is destruction!”

Loki cannot bring himself to care for her opinion, but he notes her wide-eyed, horrified rapture with thrill. _Good. Let them all LISTEN for once._ He smirked. _One last time before they are no more._

“You did nothing for me; stood behind the throne while Odin pronounced his judgements unto me; you watched aghast from the side-lines and hugged your teary, trembling form instead of mine. You plied me with empty comfort; caressed away my misgivings and tears equally, and filled my head with worthless and absurd aspirations of Odin’s praise.”

Frigga gasps softly, her face a mask of pain and hurt so deep that Loki almost feels guilty, even though his words are truth ( _to him, at least_ ) and his cause is just. “I have only ever kept your best interests at heart-“

“You _knew_ I was but a pawn to Odin; yet why did you urge me to seek his affections like a son? Did you think that if I acted out the farce of a family, then it would somehow become real? Did you hope that centuries spent in Aesir skin would somehow make it my true body?”

Frigga’s face fills with anguish. “I wanted to tell you the truth! Oh, my love… how I wished for it. I never wanted to keep you in the dark.”

Her words bring back his inner resolve, urging him to proceed, as if she had not spoken and his natural instinct was not to listen to her plea. He keeps his voice low to control his emotions. “You wanted to… ** _yet did you?_** ”

Laughing bitterly, he answers himself. “No, you did not; because you were afraid to defy Odin.”

He meets her teary eyes with intensity, unwilling to soften his blows in consideration of her feelings. The only things Frigga gave him were her words; and now he would do the same. “You wanted to tell me the truth; yet you didn’t. You promised my Sleipnir would be protected, but you let him become the All-Father’s mule and claimed it the ‘ _best you could do_ ’.

“You did **_nothing_** ; and in doing so, you taught me that there is nothing I could not do for my children, no loyalty so deep as bonds of love - not the duty of a queen, nor the upholding of ancient laws… nor a husband’s will.”

“A mother’s love is the most powerful force in all the realms, and a woman who understands naught of this power is All-Mother of none.” The dismissal is casual, impersonal almost; contrary to the raging of emotions inside him. Loki is quite proud of his composure.

The insults do not phase Frigga, but his fanatic insistence clearly disturbs her. “You are blind, child, if you do not see the love we have for you. Please, my Loki; what have they _done_ to you? What have you become?”

The slight to his _real_ parents, the ones who truly love him for everything he is, this insult steels Loki like no slight to himself could ever achieve.

“I am a mother who loves his children. And I will destroy all that threatens them.”

Frigga sighs sadly and with remorse, as if it is _Loki_ in the wrong… _and why should it not be so, as it has always been in their blinded eyes?_

“This pains me so, my child; but I am the Queen of Asgard, and it is my sworn duty to protect the realm, even if it is you I must take up arms against.”

Loki grits his teeth in frustration; it seems no Asgardian would ever listen to the Lie-Smith. **_Don’t you see, Mother, that this is the very attitude that alienated us?_**

Finding her resolve, Frigga shelves her entreaties and unsheathes her daggers. Unfortunately for her, the student of her craft developed his skill to far exceed hers.

Still, for a one-sided fight, Loki finds it quite entertaining.

When Loki has tired Frigga enough that her spells flicker and fade, Loki cedes the battle to a worthier opponent. “Let my _true_ mother show you the meaning of the title, oh _All-Mother_ ” he mocks snidely, withdrawing from Frigga’s line of sight to show the hulking Laufey behind him.

He would not deny Laufey this opportunity for revenge. As a mother himself, he knows how it feels to have a child stolen from him.

Still, something persists him to meet her gaze again, she who he once believed to be the kindest and most wonderful person in the world. The words form themselves; to mock or to entreat, he does not know:

“Look at the carnage around you, Frigga; and know that this is the desperate love of a creature who learnt that love was the opposite of all you stood for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that Loki exhausted both Odin and Frigga before ceding the match to another party (in this case Laufey). He knows that his former family is powerful and dangerous, and he is unwilling to put his loved ones in danger.
> 
> I know there are so many ways that Frigga is portrayed in fanfics, from badass mama-bear to mistress of words. Yet, this is how I choose to represent her, ‘cause she doesn’t seem to play a very active role in the movies (except when protecting Jane – not Loki… oh, the irony).
> 
> I watched ‘Inside Out’ online yesterday; and I loved it so much! I really should have watched it sooner. Did you notice how Joy and Sadness actually have the same hair and eye color; they’re two sides of the same coin! Plus the ending, with the new console and all emotions working together… aw, so sweet~
> 
> Do you guys still like this fic, or am I stretching it too long? Thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows!


	4. A Crown Prince, and Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two princes, two brothers. Standing on opposite sides, a millennium of broken promises and questionable trust between them. In the end, they face each other - is it love or hate, neither can tell.

**...**

Gladsheim shines brighter than ever; encased in ice, it reflects the sun in all its glory. The Casket’s power is beyond Loki’s wildest imagination; a swathe of transparent blue coats the entire palace surface, shimmering in tandem with the Rainbow Bridge.

The dull red of dried blood deluges everything else.

Few remain to launch an offense at the would-be conquerors, and even the most foolhardy of Aesir have withdrawn to recoup and plan.

Loki snorts. As if they knew how to use their brains; centuries of relying on Loki had dulled whatever little intelligence they hoarded among themselves.

A flick of the Casket renders an entire platoon of Aesir immobile, ice entrapping them from waist down. Loki does not spare his handiwork a second glance; his mind is far away in the healing chambers on Jὂtunheim, with his rescued eldest.

A selfish part of him (the motherly part) wants nothing more than to hold his child close and shield him from the ugly world; yet he has unfinished business here. Sleipnir himself encouraged it, nudging his dam towards the battlefield with his beautiful grey-white mane.

The healers back home ( _and when did Jὂtunheim become home?_ ) were certainly prepared and well-equipped to deal with a horse, thanks to Loki’s detailed instructions. Loki has promised to return safely to his son, and it is a promise he intends to keep, even if he must destroy Asgard to keep it.

( _Asgard, not the universe. He must remember that. Sometimes the haze of battle and the headiness of destruction make Loki subside into habits of before. A part of him still longs to destroy the universe, but his rational mind knows that doing so will only lead to a new cycle; rendering the whole effort futile. On the other hand, destroying Asgard alone…._ )

A belligerent roar interrupts his musings, “TO ME! All soldiers of the golden realm, have courage and come to me! Together, we shall vanquish these foul beasts!”

Loki sighs. One last spark of rebellion remains, bellowing war cries to rally his non-existent forces and striking down friend and foe alike with bolts of lightning.

As always, Thor is in his way; the last inconvenience before the war can truly be called _over_.

Thor seems to not realize that they have already lost. Hardly surprising, as the jewel of Odin’s eye had never experienced true war, or even true loss before. _A boy, trying to prove himself a man_ , Loki thinks, feeling almost nostalgic irritation.

For so long, Loki has been pushed aside, blamed, mocked, belittled by the golden prince. Every spar ends the same; with Thor throwing Loki on the ground, or spewing vitriol about his ~~magic~~ ‘cheating’.

Thor has never acknowledged any of Loki’s wins. In a bitter twist of recompense, Loki wants to show him how badly he has lost this time. Mind made up, the Jὂtun prince strolls leisurely towards his Aesir counterpart’s voice, wondering whether Thor’s meagre attempts at strategy were yielding any results.

But Loki’s eyes widen when he sees what Thor is up to, and he quickens his pace to join the Aesir on the Bifrost. Thor is busy hammering away at the Rainbow Bridge, and does not even notice anyone approach.

Loki is tempted to simply freeze him to death, to see the expression of surprise (and hopefully horror) etched permanently on his brother’s face when he finally accepts that Loki has won. But there is no fun in ending the game before it has begun, no thrill like seeing the prey’s eyes search wildly for an escape it knows does not exist.

He is right in front of Thor. At this distance, it almost feels like Thor is kneeling to him.

Loki might just die of satisfaction.

He kicks Thor in the side, hard, making sure to force the meaty hand away from its beloved hammer. Thor, already on his knees, falls on his back, clutching his frozen (broken) wrist.

_(The whole scene reminds Loki of a similar situation, on another planet, in another life. Only this time, there is no surprise rescue.)_

Thor blusters in fury, trying to call for his hammer but unable to move his hand. He fails, of course, and only then does he raise his head to observe Loki properly.

His blue eyes widen in shock, and for a moment Loki thinks his brother recognises him despite his form. ( _And how does that change the fact that Thor believes his kind to be a blight on the Nine Realms?_ he chides himself.)

His thoughts are interrupted by a familiar sneer on the blond’s face. “Give up”, Thor commands, with the air of one used to having his words followed, “You were lucky to land that blow. A scrawny Jὂtun runt like yourself has no chance against me. Go now, and I may yet spare your life.”

A volcano explodes inside Loki, and by Norns, he is positively _burning_. Mocking cruelty gives way to raw anger, and his magic responds by forming a malevolent halo around them. Loki’s fingers are thrumming with barely-controlled power, but he does not use it yet. He would be remiss to let Thor die uneducated, ignorant of their ( _ha!_ ) parents’ lies.

He chuckles instead. “Oh Thor, still such a sore loser.”

Thor’s eyes widen in recognition of the voice, and intently search the monster’s face for something familiar. “And no less of a dense oaf, I see.”

“Loki?” he finally responds, voice hesitant and laced with disbelief, or perhaps denial. “Loki, what are you-“

Thor suddenly cuts himself off with a bright smile. “Is this a camouflage strategy, brother? Do you aim to sneak into their lines and slit their throats?” He frowns suddenly, “But brother, you would be discovered immediately. You are much too short.”

The casual disrespect, the immediate slur to his true form, brings forth a spiral of unpleasant memories. So many times as Thor made a mockery of him, called him names, _too short, too thin, too weak, too womanly…._

Unsure, Thor asks, “Did you come here to help me?”. His eyes are queasy, questioning. Thor may be an oaf, but he is not retarded; he can see that Loki’s ‘illusion’ does not make sense if his only intention was to assist.

“ _No, Thor_ ”, Loki whispers slowly, savouring the words, “ _I came to kill you_.”

Thor’s jaw drops, and he stares guileless, confused, disbelieving; and Loki remembers his words again, “ _A scrawny Jὂtun runt like yourself has no chance against me..._ ”

“ ** _Kill_** me? What? Why? Why would you-“ he stops, ponders. Confusion is replaced with anger. “ _It was **YOU**! **You** let them in!_ ”

_So quick to blame Loki…._

“You betrayed all of us, polluted our sacred realm by smuggling in these vile creatures to do your dirty work! You waged war against Father, against Asgard… all for what? A throne without a single willing subject? A crown without honour?”

Thor looks sad, so sad despite all his anger, “If you desired the throne so greatly brother, then I would have given it to you, if you had but asked.”

Despite his bumbling with words, Thor seemed to have a natural talent for irony. Perhaps because he is utterly unaware of it.

“Me, _ask_?” Loki matches sneer for sneer. “As if you would listen.”

“ ** _You_** , who ignored my every advice except when you were desperate; **_you_** , who laughed at my words of caution and labelled me a coward for them; **_you_** , who begged my help yet promptly forgot when it was given… **_you_** , who held me down while they stitched my lips shut; **_you_** _would listen?”_

“If you had given advice without insult, caution without condescension, then perhaps I may have listened! And you the truly reckless one, for the deal you made with the dwarves!”

How dare he. How DARE he. Thor blaming Loki for his lips being sewn shut – it was so typical, so bluntly insensitive, so very _Thor_ , Loki does not know how he could have expected anything else.

“Well, then… if you are so earnest, then listen. With the Casket in possession, the Jὂtnar army has no need of the Bifrost to travel between Realms. By destroying the Bridge, you are cutting off any opportunity for reinforcements would could, possibly, save you.”

“Not that there is much to save”, he smirks, casually gesturing towards the iced palace.

“I, you..” _I do not believe you_ , hovers over the tip of Thor’s tongue, but in face of his previous ardent declaration, even _Thor_ might find it contradictory. Yet _I believe you_ is a lie, and Thor – precious, golden Thor – is not a liar like Loki. So he settles for a compromise, “I- Heimdall would know, he must be here, we can ask-“

Loki shakes his head bemusedly. “Heimdall is dead, and has been so for quite a while. He was one of the first to taste the Casket’s strength. He may still be there”, Loki shrugs casually towards the Bifrost’s golden dome, “but I doubt he is in one piece.”

“ ** _Traitor_**!” Thor roars, very much familiar with this anger, this berserker rage that had earned him a reputation as a warrior. It is much preferred over quiet thought, and it manages to silence the questions in his head. “How could you? Your guardian, your friend – how could you do this to him?”

The Aesir prince struggles to stand, futilely eyeing his hammer as if he could wish it back to him even while too injured to wield it. Trying to distract his brother, he says with wry disdain, “Though I suppose you no longer consider him, or anyone else for that matter, as your friend. Not while you glamour yourself like that, spitting on all that we have stood for.”

Thor gives up his attempts to stay vertical, and spews banalities instead. “I am sure you have no friends with those beasts either, though you are just as cruel and twisted. Isn’t that why you wear this monstrous skin? To show your allegiance to them?”

Ah, the moment of reckoning. Loki may be the God of Lies, but there is no poison so sweet as a bitter truth.

Soft, gentle words form on his lips, plain and direct so even the oaf may understand. “No Thor, this is no illusion.” Gesturing to himself, “This, what you see, is my true skin. The one I was born with, and the one that hid under the pale skin I wore for most of my life.”

“Are you saying… you cannot mean” Thor is sputtering, choking on his words, incoherent where Loki is clear, “it was a lie all along?”

“Yes, but not one of my making.”

Thor frowns at this; for if a lie exists, then Loki is and shall always be the cause, at least to his simple mind. Loki does not give him a chance to interrupt. “It is a lie perpetrated by the All-Father, a lie of family and belonging, an illusion of safety to tame the Jὂtunn, the monster within.”

“No, father, he- he would not, he- I, he would not lie, he- you tricked him somehow, and-“

“You think Odin would not know that the babe he held was not Aesir?” Loki demands. He is feeling weary now, verbal spars with Thor’s thick skull tend to do that to him. _One last time_ , he consoles himself, _one last time_.

Thor is in a quandary now; agreeing would mean that Odin is ( _WAS. Odin died; Loki saw to that himself. He just needs time for it to sink in, that’s all._ ) a fool, or incompetent, or undiscerning. But to disagree would make Odin compliant with Loki’s lie.

Thor finds the latter a better option. Odin has a reason for everything he does; surely there was a reason to explain this?

“If you are Jὂtunn, then how did you come to be in Asgard?” The ‘ _Who snuck you in?_ ’ is heavily implied.

“Odin took me as a child, stole me away from my people’s sacred temple in the midst of the Great War. He must have witnessing my shape-shifting abilities, for he established glamours and wards to make my shift to Aesir skin permanent. So permanent, in fact, that even I was unaware of my true nature for over a thousand years.”

“Why would he take you?” Thor’s voice holds only earnest confusion, but Loki reads different meanings to his words, bitter questions he asked when he was still coming to terms with who he really is. Playing with Thor stopped being fun a long time back.

 _Because he is a vile, cruel man who delights in stealing children from their families,_ Loki wants to say, yet he doesn’t. The Thor of this cycle is unaware of his children other than Sleipnir, and he will not expose them to the slander that the previous Thors hurled at them. He has raised his children right this time, all except Sleipnir, in whose name this war is waged. They shall never have cause to believe themselves monsters again.

“ ** _Because I am the bringer of Ragnarὂk._** ”

“Ragnarὂk? The end of the world, the end of all worlds?” Thor scoffs. “It is a myth, and you are foolish to believe that your chaos could be likened to universal destruction. We will-”

Loki shakes his head bemusedly, “Ah, that is where you are mistaken. This is not Ragnarὂk, for the end of the world is, I find, quite counter-productive to my goals. You see, once everything ends, it all starts again, from the very beginning.” Loki’s voice is hypnotic, heavy with infinite sadness. “Over and over and over again, a cycle of pain and despair.”

“Ragnarὂk, the end which you ridicule; it has happened before. And that which you call myth is memory. Your mental capabilities are paltry, but there are those that remember the actions and consequences of times before.”

“You asked why Odin took me. It is because he remembered me and what I am capable of, what I shall unleash.” Loki chuckles sadly. “You remember when we were children, Odin would tell us about the monstrosity of Jὂtuns? I rather think he was talking about _me_. I’m quite flattered to be the source of Odin’s nightmares.”

 _As he has been of mine in so many cycles,_ Loki thinks, but does not voice it. It would not do to be fallible now, when Thor still looks so sceptical and bewildered. “You may not believe it, _my dear brother_ (brother, nephew, enemy); but if you search deep within your soul you will find I speak the truth.”

Loki inches closer, close enough for Thor to match the unfamiliar face to the brother he knows – or thought he knew. “You have seen the end before, though you do not remember it. You have fought against me in the battlefield, fallen to my sword and magic. You have seen my visage and felt fear unlike anything else you have ever experienced.”

Loki brightens suddenly, “But this cycle, I do not intend for you to suffer. You will pass away peacefully, unaware of the tortures I can concoct to claim my dues for all that was done to me.”

And now Jὂtun eyes flash red with wickedness, “Because this is not Ragnarὂk. This is merely the fall of Asgard. The universe shall continue unhindered, but your planet shall become a barren wasteland.” Loki grins cheekily, “It is a trifle less, but it should satisfy my claims, I think.”

Thor is screaming in defiance, the words so deliciously satisfying, “NO! I will not let this happen! I will stop you, and put an end to this madness-“ He attempts a battle-stance again but-

“I think it is you who has been stopped” Loki murmurs. Thor glances to his legs, horrified. Far too late, he realizes that his immobility is not from physical exhaustion but from a thick film of ice that moves steadily upwards to paralyze his entire body.

He looks back towards his brother, who is holding the Casket of Ancient Winters in blue, whorled hands. Sky blue eyes meet garnet red, and Thor’s mouth opens involuntarily – to entreat or denounce, or a bit of both. “Loki, I-“

His words are immediately cut off. Sentiment is an emotion they can both do without. “Look Thor, you're turning blue!” Loki grins manically, refusing to consider how hysterical he sounds. “If you become a frost giant, would you kill yourself?”

Thor cannot answer, as ice creeps over his ( _perfect, Aesir_ ) face. Yet his eyes flash with something ( _Loki refuses to analyse that almost regret-like frown_ ) that has Loki turning away. The Jὂtun dwells instead on the blissful realization that he has silenced Thor, silenced the insults and jeers and taunts, once in for all.

He turns skywards, relishing his freedom, the release of his pent-up emotions echoing across the burning stars.

But the silence is shattered by a noise so pleasant he nearly dances with glee.

With a thunderous (Thor-worthy) roar, the ice around Gladsheim fractures, cleaves into pieces; taking the Aesir palace with it. Loki watches his childhood home crumble, feeling his tortures, his fears and failings, his shame and grief, crumble along with it.

Standing there at the edge of the Bifrost, he feels empty enough to match the Void below.

( _Loki remembers falling. Numerous lifetimes would not be enough to forget that feeling of nothingness.)_

And finally, free at last.

He can hear ice shattering behind him, but he does not deign to turn. Only when shards pool around his boots does he look towards his erstwhile brother, or rather, at his remains.

The hammer is frozen but does not break. However, the hands that can wield it ( _the only hands worthy_) are gone like Gladsheim.

**...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I was talking about TDW scene on Svartalfheim, where Loki double-crosses and cuffs Thor, only to triple-cross and save Thor, and then promptly fake his death. 
> 
> Hoddmímis holt is a one-shot I wrote a while back, focusing on Thor and his emotions through the Avengers – Ultron. If you liked this chapter, you might like that fic too.
> 
> Is my sentence construction too convoluted? If so, please tell me. I tried to make it mythic, not tongue-twisting. About the innumerable alliterations, I’m sorry. I can’t help it.
> 
> Bye bye Thor! One more chapter to go.... (a happier one, I promise).
> 
> Two updates in one day, I’m on a roll here! I’ve posted a new SasuHina fics. Fans of the pairing, please check it out!


	5. An Ending, and a New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I know, I have been missing for nearly two years. I’m not self-obsessed enough to think that you lot might have been waiting for this, but for those who liked this story, I am sorry I disappointed you. Well, better late than never, right?
> 
> On another note, I loved Thor: Ragnarok! Though it is nothing like this fic, it was funny and irreverent and so entirely hopeful – ushering a new era of MCU, which is the kind of emotion I want to bring to this final chapter.
> 
> I’d like to thank a close friend of mine for motivating me to finish this. You pushed me to dredge this draft out and finally publish it!

**...**

**Chapter 5: An Ending, and a New Beginning**

**…**

Loki sits on the parapet of Asgard’s crumbling wall; the wall that brought him so much misery, and later joy, and eventually this war.

The horizon is bleak, with chaos and destruction spreading as far as his sharp eyes can see. The sight does not thrill him as much as he expects.

The sun shines too bright for his dark-preferring Jὂtun eyes, and it reflects off the intermittently-splayed ice to blind the straggling passers-by. The ice is slowly melting, and Loki is smothered by the heat, yet he does not shift his spot. Through the settling dust, Loki can see the sun, setting blood-red on an equally bloody battlefield. It is a fiery reminder that all is not yet over, that Asgard’s fall would trigger the rise of infractions seeking the (now symbolic) power of the golden ( _gilded, fake_ ) throne; a warning that the dark forces in Muspelheim would not be too far off.

But that threat is anticipated, and can wait another day; today is a day of victory.

Victory. There is sweetness in this elusive emotion, and Loki revels in it – for how often do the cursed ones have cause to celebrate?

Loki has nowhere to be, nothing to do… and he looks forward to this uncharted clean slate; without foreknowledge, without the ever-present fear.

_(For no one has foretold the future after Ragnarök, the future beyond the so-called Realm Eternal…)_

He has left the management of the aftermath to the reigning monarchs Hela and Laufey, wisely recognizing that his chaos has no place in the order they are creating.

No formal announcement has yet been made; but there is an unspoken agreement that Hela shall take the throne that Odin’s death leaves vacated. Not a fancy title, like King of Asgard (for there is no Asgard anymore), nor All-Father… yet Hela shall be the ruler and protector of all realms.

‘Tis a wise choice, and not one that needs much justification, for there is none better suited. Hela has learnt fairness from her father and loss from her grandmother, and her cleverness has long exceeded even her mother’s wiles. Hela is queen, as she once was, as she _should be_ ; only this time she is Queen of all.

“Do you not want the throne of your tormentors?” Hela enquires of her mother, her eyes deep and wise and entirely too knowing. She is the Queen of the dead, and has seen many horrors during her rule. She understands the darkness in Loki’s heart, and the madness the Aesir fuel in him.

Past lives flit through his mind, and his declaration of the past echoes longingly back. “ _I never wanted the throne. I only wanted to be your equal._ ”

Loki shakes his head. Never mind. The mere fact that he is alive and Thor is not, makes him better by default. And really, the oaf was a poor standard in the first place.

( _“Why can’t you be strong like your brother, Loki? Why do you cling to Seiðr_ _and shame the **true** warriors of Asgard?_ )

The thoughts of Thor, and his death, hit him; like the blow from Mjölnir. At once, all the memories that he had repressed for so long, that he had buried to see his role as the Ragnarök-bringer through, all his days in Asgard come rushing at him in a deluge of bittersweet emotion.

 _(Aha,_ he muses _, it seems I am just as guilty of hiding memories as Odin…)_

The times he had spent with Thor; as uncle, as brother, as constant companion…. so many lifetimes of interactions culminating in that final face-off on the Rainbow Bridge above the abyss….

**_Could this be… remorse?_ **

**...**

Loki is still sitting on the wall when Angrboða finds him.

The Jὂtun is immediately startled, to find his love shaking, his fists clenched and his body taut with tension.

Angrboða approaches warily, for he knows first-hand how tempestuous Loki’s moods could be, and how unpredictable his actions were in such… _delicate_ situations.

“I killed Thor”, Loki informs cheerfully when the other takes a seat beside him. His voice is at odds with his marble-like visage and stressed posture.

“On the Rainbow Bridge. I am aware.” Angrboða returns carefully, knowing the cheery voice is a façade for some deeper emotion that Loki could not express. (In some ways, Loki was still _such_ a child…)

“I wonder if Fen found Odin tasty.” Still that light, chirpy conversational tone.

“Unlikely. He was old meat after all, and Aesir skin is supposed to be tougher than human.” Angrboða bites his lip after he says this, wondering if the blunt answer might somehow offend. With Loki, it is difficult to tell. Sometimes he enjoyed the dry wit that Laufey was famed for, but sometimes his humor tended towards the macabre…

And Loki’s reaction towards his former foster-family was always explosive, one way or another.

“How did Laufey-King kill Frigga?” Loki’s voice softens.

No mention of the word ‘mother’, either for the former or the latter. Angrboða knows there is a reason for that subtlety, but its meaning escapes him.

“I don’t know. Creatively, or so I heard.” Dammit, but it is hard for Angrboða to control his tongue, so rushed and elated he is, knowing full well what a victory their – _his!_ – children have won. Asgard, the Realm Eternal, standing at the pinnacle of the Yggdrasil for eons, brought to dust… his veins are still thrumming with the giddy thrill of being part of Legend.

“Pity I wasn’t there to see that, then. I do so love my dam’s sense of humor.”

Loki’s face darkens at this (still so at odds with his words), and conversely, Angrboða is relieved. An angry Loki can at least be understood, the cheerfully-deranged one is infinitely more dangerous.

“But perhaps it is better than I was not there…” Loki continues, “Frigga, from what I recall, would have wasted significant time in pointless entreaties. And Odin, he would have been silently disapproving; that was his way of making his opponents feel like dirt.”

Angrboða shakes his head. “’Tis not like their words, their narrow viewpoints, matter anymore. Not to Asgard, not to the Nine Realms, and not to us. Jὂtunheim, Vanaheim, Midgard… all realms are free of their tyranny at last.”

“True. And the Realms owe us for securing their freedom, _and they would do well to remember it._ ” That thought seems to be a distraction for Loki, imagining how the leaders of the other Realms would react to the fall of Asgard, to the reality of Hela’s new era.

But his old trail of thought resurfaces. “Do you know, even in the end, Odin never believed he had lost. He went to battle Fenrir believing that, as usual, he and Asgard would triumph over evil and bring light to the world.”

Angrboða winces. Clearly, this conversation is a complicated circuit on thin ice. “That makes him more a fool, then” he ventures carefully, gauging Loki’s reaction.

“And more fool I, the poor lost child, that I still yearned for acknowledgment – even if the only acknowledgment I would receive was fear for what I had brought upon them.”

Angrboða clenches his fists before he responds. There is no correct answer to this. His words are arrows in the dark; and he shoots them without any clue what they may hit. In his heart, he hopes they land close to Loki’s core where a lonely, mistrustful child sits, pleading for salvation yet too suspicious to grasp it when offered.

“It is only natural, my love. You have feared them, feared for your children, for so many decades. Why should you not want them to feel fear in recompense?”

Emboldened by the lack of an immediate, violent fall-out, Angrboða continues “They did not fear you, for they were fools; too blind to see that you had far surpassed them.”

“You are the mother of horses and speed, of land and sea, of sun and moon. Queen Mother of the Dead. You, of all beings in the universe, are the only one who can truly be called the All-Mother.”

“I have seen you, fierce and strong in protecting all you care for; mightier than a Valkyrie in fighting for family; for neither war nor fate nor prophesy could keep you from your loved ones. All-destroyer and all-protector, you have the heart of all who serve you.”

 _As you have my heart,_ he does not say, for he will not. He has never asked for more affection than Loki can give, merely content to give his all, and to take happiness from the fact that Loki had chosen _him_ ; chosen Angrboða as his consort, as the father of his children. There was no greater honor to Angrboða than being at Loki’s side, and offering whatever support he is capable of.

Like now.

“You are the Mother of the New World. You are more than they will ever be, and you will see a future they will never know.”

Angrboða is not prepared for the fierce, almost strangling hug that Loki bestows on him; but is grateful that his words have created some impact. In his arms, Loki is part-crying, part-laughing, but the relief is evident in every line of his taut body.

He sighs, then smiles. Child, indeed….

“Thank you, Boda.” Loki’s voice is quiet, and his tears are reducing to sniffles, but he still does not let go, content to curl into Angrboða’s arms and watch the sun sink into the horizon and bring the relaxing darkness.

‘Tis uncharted territory, the future, and for the first time Loki finds himself looking forward to it. Angrboða is right, the future is for them; full of endless unknown possibilities and free of Odin and Frigga and Thor.

The cycle is broken, and the things in his nightmares shall never again come to pass.

Clearly, it shall take a while to sink in.

For a moment, he remembers twin faces of mischief, Narfi and Vali clamoring into his lap while Sigyn watched laughing from the shade of Idunn’s groves.

Still lost in the past, Loki offers Angrboða a grateful smile, and earning a confused blink in return. Angrboða is more guileless than Glut (almost as much as Thor), and more loyal than Sigyn, and he had kept Loki from breaking into so much shattered glass.

Loki touches his belly in thought. Some things change through the cycles, yet some remain same. Loki’s children are the constants in his bleak life; why should they change?

That thought gives him a very different sort of hope – one that is bright and pure and unsullied by fear for the future.

_(When he birthed his three ‘monsters’, he prayed long and hard for them to be strong and clever and powerful, so they could fulfill the roles that prophecy and Asgard thrust upon them. He wanted them to be children; yet he knew they could not afford to be._

_There will be no more demands of his children… nor of any more children that he may have.)_

For the end is over… and who can tell what comes after Ragnarök?

At this thought, his grin is bright as the sun before them, and Angrboða reels in shock before tentatively returning it – an earnest, hopeful smile. Loki muses that he may have been inattentive to ( _suspicious of_ ) [his](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angrbo%C3%B0a) consort; but that shall change. He is no longer caged by the torments of his past, and so he shall let it go and embrace the future.

_(But he does not choose to forget… because he remembers the sealing of his memories and how the unsealing nearly drove him to madness…)_

Angrboða is right. They are powerful, the most powerful beings in the realms.

Hela is Queen of the dead; and Death waits for none, not even Time.

Who needs a space gem, when eight hooves can carry their rider to the far reaches of the universe and beyond?

No mind-controlled army could ever hope to survive the march of the faithful Dead.

Their lives and souls have been forged from hatred and pain; they have built their reality from the very foundations of a broken Jὂtunheim… and they shall expand their horizons atop the ruins of Asgard.

Power is a Casket that can unleash primal winter, might is a Wolf who swallowed the King of Kings. What hope does the flame-wielding Surtur have against such foes, should he be so foolish as to challenge them for this ruined realm?

They have no cause for despair. And if such a reason comes, then they will destroy it, **together** , as they have destroyed the once-great Asgard.

What more have they to be afraid of?

The ashes of a burning Asgard shall serve as fertilizer to rejuvenate the World Tree, making it stronger and healthier, fit for a new era with **their family** at the helm.

Angrboða stands suddenly, pulling Loki up with him.

“I forget why I came in search of you in the first place. Come, you have a son to meet.”

Loki’s eyes tear up as he thinks of his first-born, reunited at last with his brothers and sister and mother. At last, he is ready to look to the future with optimism ( _unfettered by future horrors of the cycles past_ ). For every twilight gives in to a beautiful dawn, and they have been in the shadows for far too long.

 _The end of Ragnarök_ , Loki muses, half enthralled, half amused.

Not the end of the cycle, but the end of all cycles… the eternal end of Loki’s trails. Loki’s tormentors are gone ( _forever and ever… he killed them; Odin and Frigga and Thor… he killed them all_ ), and his family safe in his arms, together for the first time in the history of the universe.

 ** _And what is the end of the end, if not the beginning of beginnings?_**  

**...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ragnarök or Ragnarøkkr, is Old Norse for "Fate of the Gods" and "Twilight of the Gods" respectively. The new world that rises after Ragnarök is described in Völuspá.
> 
> Naglfar - Ship of the Dead
> 
> Vígríðr or Óskópnir – literally: battle-surge, or in other words, the Battlefield of Ragnarök
> 
> Iðavöllr or Gimlé – place where the survivors rebuild their lives post- Ragnarök
> 
> Oh, and Jὂtunn is the plural form, by the way (in case I did not clarify earlier).
> 
> ...
> 
> Explanation for this line: “You are the mother of horses and speed, of land and sea, of sun and moon. Queen Mother of the Dead.”
> 
> Horses and Speed – reference to Sleipnir
> 
> Land and Sea – Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent, big enough to wrap himself around entire worlds.
> 
> Sun and Moon – In Norse mythology, Fenrir's son Sköll swallows the sun and his other son Hati swallows the moon.
> 
> ...
> 
> No reference to Thanos, I know… but I did say this was more Mythology than MCU. But I did hint at the Infinity Stones, so I hope MCU fans are happy.
> 
> Kudos to the one who finds the Harry Potter reference!


End file.
